


Primal

by wilddragonflying



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, handjobs, not exactly hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Ever since Wayne had shown up in the village Arthur had claimed as ‘his,’ he’d felt as though his skin were too tight. Not even being in the water helped, which was beyond comprehension.





	Primal

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I saw Justice League and... This was the first thing that popped into my mind afterwards. This and ‘holy shit I ship Barry/Victor so hard’
> 
> Spoilers for a couple of points in Justice League ahead

Ever since Wayne had shown up in the village Arthur had claimed as ‘his,’ he’d felt as though his skin were too tight. Not even being in the water helped, which was beyond comprehension. It’s not until after Steppenwolf takes the Atlantean mother box that he finally gives in to the niggling voice in the back of his mind that said he should seek out this Batman and his ‘team.’

What he finds is… less than impressive, but it could be worse, Arthur supposes. That itching, too-tight feeling is back, exacerbated every time he gets within three feet of Bruce, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for him to recognize it for what it is. Not just the feeling of one predator circling another, both wary of sharing turf, but _attraction._

It takes roughly fifteen seconds for Arthur to figure out what he wants to do with this realization. 

Getting the chance to actually do something about it, however, takes a bit longer - until after Bruce gets tossed around like a ragdoll by a newly-resurrected Superman, to be exact. He lets Diana go first; she has an apology to make, and Arthur doesn’t want any interruptions once he gets Bruce alone. Diana gives him a knowing smirk when she leaves Bruce’s room, but all Arthur does is raise one eyebrow and toss a wink her way, earning a quiet laugh in return before the Amazon turns the corner and Arthur knocks once, a brief warning, and then lets himself into the room. 

”What are you - “

Bruce doesn’t sound aggravated, just tired, but Arthur doesn’t break stride, heading right for the bottle of scotch on the table. “Figured you shouldn’t be left alone,” he says easily. “You already brood enough, don’t need you falling any deeper into your head.” He pours them both a healthy serving, passing over Bruce’s glass with a raised eyebrow and a challenging look. Bruce takes the glass, throwing back half of the liquor inside in one go. Arthur grins, downing his before pouring out another - he doesn’t offer to do the same for Bruce; he’s not planning on letting Bruce get tipsy or worse, maudlin - and dropping to sit on the mattress beside him. 

He raises his glass in a silent toast, taking a sip this time instead of knocking it all back, and hides his grin behind his glass when he feels the way Bruce shifts beside him, leaning closer. “I still think you’re wrong,” Bruce says quietly. “Bringing Clark back was for the best.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Assuming he comes back from wherever the hell he took him and the redhead off to, that is,” he reminds Bruce. “And that he’s gotten his issues with you out of his system.”

Bruce shrugs. “The world needs him a lot more than it needs a paranoid billionaire who’s only human,” he says, and something in Arthur snaps. 

He twists on the bed so he can direct the full force of his glare at the ‘paranoid billionaire who’s only human’ as he snarls, “Is that really all you think you are? You really think you’re nothing special, that you could easily be replaced or discarded?”

Bruce looks taken aback, but only for a moment before his expression hardens. “It’s true,” he insists, voice low, something dangerous curling through it that makes Arthur’s blood hum, because _Finally._ “I don’t have anything that can’t be replaced. Anyone can spend money, anyone can learn to fight - “

”But no one can learn to _lead_ ,” Arthur counters, getting to his feet, something in his chest damn near purring when Bruce refuses to be intimidated, surging to his feet so he can match Arthur glare for glare. “You have to have something in you to lead, a sheer stubbornness - “

”That’s in too many people to count,” Bruce snarls. “For fuck’s sake, Alfred is more stubborn than I am, so is the Chief of Police, any number of citizens - “

”But can they plan?” Arthur interrupts, pressing closer. “Can they come up with a plan in the heat of the moment, analyze what’s happening and decide how to react, how to counter it?”

”All it takes is training - “

Arthur growls, and he’s distantly aware of his glass hitting a wall off to the side somewhere to shatter as he grabs Bruce, touch hard but not bruising, nowhere near gentle but not vicious, and hauls him in as he steps closer, slotting his mouth over Bruce’s in a hard kiss. Bruce goes completely still, and for a moment Arthur thinks he fucked up, but he presses on regardless, pulling back to say, voice rumbling from deep in his chest, “ _You_ are not irreplaceable. Don’t you ever say that again.”

To his credit, Bruce adjusts to their new position and rapidly shifting relationship with admirable speed, giving Arthur a smirk and asking, “Does that mean you love me?”

Arthur chuckles, crowding Bruce. “You wish, bat.” He wants to press in for another kiss, wants desperately to see if Bruce will taste just as much of scotch as Arthur does, wants to see if he can make Bruce taste like the sea that clings to himself, but he waits. He’s made his interest clear, and the ball is in Bruce’s court now. 

Bruce doesn’t leave him waiting for long, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Arthur’s hair and tug him forward; Arthur goes willingly, nudging Bruce back until his knees hit the mattress and Bruce lets himself fall, pulling Arthur with him. It’s a mess of lips, tongue, and teeth for several moments, Arthur’s heartbeat pounding in his ears, blood roaring whenever he manages to drag a gasp from Bruce’s mouth, a groan leaving his own when Bruce arches up, one leg hooking around Arthur’s thigh to drag them closer until he can feel the hot press of Bruce’s cock through their clothes. 

Arthur groans, curses, and rears back, yanking his tank top off impatiently before reaching for Bruce’s shirt. “Off,” he orders, and Bruce complies. Arthur pauses when he sees the bruises curling around his ribs, and after a moment’s thought he wraps a careful arm around Bruce and rolls them, getting him off of his back and flipping their positions. Bruce looks surprised by the gesture, but when he opens his mouth to say something, Arthur palms his cock, wrist flexing to press against him in a rolling motion that turn impending words into a breathless curse. Arthur grins. “You want to get these off or do you want me to make you come in your pants like a teenager?”

Bruce glares at him, but the heat is the wrong shade to be anger. “Like hell,” he retorts, lifting up to slide a thumb under the waistband; he takes too long, so Arthur reaches up and helps. The pants go sailing somewhere not on the bed, and then the underwear follow. Bruce curses once he gets Arthur’s sweats down and realizes that he’s not wearing underwear; Arthur smirks, then reels him in for a biting kiss with one hand while the other wanders. Up Bruce’s arm, over his shoulder, ghosting over the bruises on his back until it reaches his ass, and then Arthur squeezes, grabs Bruce and pulls him closer, the both of them groaning when the action makes their cocks rub against each other in all the right places. 

He feels Bruce shift, and then curses when his hand wraps around both of their cocks, pressing them closer together as Bruce carefully moves his hips, gauging Arthur’s reaction; it’s the right one, apparently, because when Arthur matches him movement for movement, Bruce’s breathing hitches and then they settle into a rhythm, too hard to be anything other than fucking, but just gentle enough to not aggravate Bruce’s injuries. 

Arthur feels like he’s overheating, half-expects the sweat covering him and Bruce both to start steaming any moment, but he doesn’t let up. The kisses have degenerated into nothing more than hot breaths panted against each other’s lips, the rhythm they’re building preventing anything more, and Arthur’s so close, can tell that Bruce is, too - and then he lets the hand not on Bruce’s ass join Bruce’s on their cocks, encouraging Bruce into a rough rhythm, driving them both over the edge. Bruce curses above him, and Arthur buries his own in the crook of Bruce’s neck as his hips jerk, come spilling over his stomach and mixing with Bruce’s - objectively, pretty damn disgusting, but it pleases some primal urge in the back of his mind, enough that he doesn’t immediately demand they get cleaned up. He lets the enjoy the afterglow, drawing careful fingers up and over Bruce’s back, mapping his injuries and making a mental note to make sure Bruce doesn’t overdo it tomorrow when they go confront Steppenwolf. 

It’s strange, but he’s rapidly becoming fond of this team, Arthur discovers. He’s been alone for too long, and now that he’s had a taste of teamwork, of fighting _with_ people, he’s none too eager to give it up. 

Even stranger… He doesn’t mind. 


End file.
